


Making Waves

by HopeCoppice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Bathing/Washing, Childcare, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Mild threats but not against Warlock, Toddlers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23072725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Warlock Dowling may be the Antichrist, but he's also a four year old boy.Which means that sometimes he gets absolutely filthy and has to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being bathed. Whether it's more of an ordeal for him or his nanny is a completely different matter.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Crowley & Warlock Dowling, Nanny Ashtoreth & Brother Francis (Good Omens), Nanny Ashtoreth & Warlock Dowling, Warlock Dowling & Brother Francis
Comments: 12
Kudos: 108





	Making Waves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Natsue_Yotsuki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natsue_Yotsuki/gifts).



> A present for Natsue_Yotsuki, in celebration of a cleaning job that needed doing and got done! Hope you like it.

Brother Francis drifted into the kitchen towards nightfall, sighing happily at the sight of the first star appearing in the gathering twilight. He loved the early evening; it was a peaceful time in the Dowling household, as everybody began wrapping up the bulk of their day’s work, and it was the perfect time to go in search of a delicious little snack that might or might not have been in the fridge before he opened it.

It was _usually_ a peaceful time, at any rate. On this particular evening, he had barely picked up his tasty little pear tart from inside the refrigerator when he heard the violent _clack clack clack_ of an ill-tempered Nanny storming down the stairs and into the kitchen. Slamming the door behind her, she fixed her gaze on the ceiling with such malevolence that Aziraphale was surprised the whole house didn’t collapse out of terror.

She was drenched, from head to toe, water plastering her hair to her head and dripping from her clothes to form a puddle where she stood.

“Rough day, dear?” She turned her attention away from the ceiling and rounded on him, drawing herself up to her full height and _looming_ like a snake about to strike.

“This is _your fault_ ,” she snarled.

“Oh dear.” He stepped round her, careful to avoid the puddle, and found himself a fork. Leaning against the countertop - Nanny’s personal lake was blocking his route to the table - he took a bite of his pear tart and gave a pleased little wiggle. “Do tell me all about it.”

* * *

**_45 minutes earlier_ **

“And that’s why you should be kind to all living creatures, young Warlock, and not just the fluffy ones.”

“But the fluffy ones are _cute_ ,” Warlock protested, and Brother Francis sighed.

“That they are,” Brother Francis agreed, “but lots of creatures that aren’t fluffy are _also_ very loveable.”

“Like what, Brother Francis?”

“Snakes, for example,” Brother Francis began, “and, er… turtles, I suppose, and snails-”

Nanny Ashtoreth took pity on the beleaguered gardener and stepped out from behind the hedge where she’d been lingering, doing some good old-fashioned demonic eavesdropping. Of course, the instant she caught sight of the pair, every trace of pity died.

“What on _earth_ have you two been doing?”

Brother Francis looked up from where he was crouched next to a large pile of mud, not a hair out of place, not so much as a smudge of dirt on his smock. And the pile of mud waved.

“Nanny, we made nests!”

“Now, now, Warlock." Brother Francis shook his head. "What did we say this sort of nest was called?”

“A… kermit mound?”

“A termite mound,” Brother Francis corrected gently. “Termites not included, of course.”

Nanny Ashtoreth closed her eyes behind her sunglasses and counted, very slowly, to six. And then to six again. And then to six. Then she let out a deep, carefully controlled breath and held out her hand.

“Come along, Warlock. It’s time to go indoors. Though I don’t think we’ll be making any friends among the housekeeping staff.”

“Bye bye, Brother Francis.”

“And good night to you, young Warlock. And to you, Nanny Ashtoreth.”

“Sleep with one eye open,” Nanny Ashtoreth told him, in the sort of tone she might use to wish Warlock pleasant - albeit evil - dreams. Then a muddy little hand was placed in hers, and she used it to lead her charge indoors.

She couldn’t get away with any big miracles in the house, even when it was just her and Warlock - he was four, he wasn’t _blind_ \- but she did allow herself a quick folding of reality to summon a newspaper from the recycling bin. It was a tabloid, so it didn’t offer much floor coverage, but she did her best, ripping out a two-page spread and having Warlock stand on it.

“Let’s play a game of _the floor is lava_ , lamb. Only everything is lava except the newspaper.” She laid down another sheet, and another, and when Warlock had moved she picked up the first sheet to find that some of the mud had soaked through and soiled the floor anyway. She rolled her eyes and began using three sheets at a time.

Slowly, carefully, they made their way up the stairs, at which point Warlock realised where they were going. He tried to make a run for it, but then he remembered that _the floor was lava._ Actually, Nanny Ashtoreth realised, they would have to stop playing that before he started to come into his powers. A little belief could go a long way, if you happened to be the Antichrist.

“Noo, Nanny! I had a bath _yesterday!_ ”

“And you’re having another one today. Stand on the bath mat, lamb, and I’ll run you some nice bubbles.”

Fortunately, the bath didn’t need much supervision, because Warlock certainly did.

“Nanny, what’s this bottle?”

“Shampoo. It makes your hair clean and lovely.”

“What about this one?”

“Conditioner.”

“What’s it for?”

“Hair, too. Makes it even lovelier.”

“And this one?”

“I think you know what that one’s for, lamb.” It was his favourite, bubble bath in a bottle shaped like a sailor. He grinned and held it out to her; she took it. “Yes, I’ll put the bubbles in when the bath’s a bit more full.” A glare at the tap had it running at twice its usual rate, but the momentary lapse of attention was all Warlock needed to grab the end of the toilet paper and yank a huge length of it away from the roll.

“Warlock. That’s-” Well, at least his hands were a little less muddy. She tipped a generous portion of bubble bath into the water, tested the temperature with her elbow, fixed it with a stealthy miracle, and turned off the taps. “Right, little fiend. Come here.” She tugged his t-shirt over his head and helped him wriggle out of his trousers before picking him up and plonking him into the water.

“There you go, how’s the water?”

“Just right, Nanny Ash. Like Goldilocks!”

“Hmm. Well, you look more like the Little Mermaid at the moment.”

“Nanny _Ash!_ The Little Mermaid’s a girl!”

“Oh, yes. Well, the Little Merman, then. If you prefer.”

“Can I have my toys, Nanny?”

“Let me get you clean first, and then you can play. What Francis was thinking-”

“Pleeeeease, Nanny? Then I’ll be clean after.”

“Hmm.” She considered the issue for a moment; it would be good for the Antichrist to learn to negotiate at some point. “You can have _one_ toy, for now, _if_ you promise to behave while I’m washing you. Then, when you’re clean, you can play. Deal?” She held out her hand to shake on it, and Warlock slapped his palm against hers with wild enthusiasm.

“Deal - I want the duckie!”

Warlock’s rubber duck was one of the novelty types that came in a variety of designs and colours. He’d chosen it himself in the shop and, naturally, he’d picked a little red duck with horns and a trident. It had taken very little encouragement from Nanny, actually. She handed it over. 

“There you go. Play with that and keep still, you’ve got half the garden in your hair.”

Warlock grabbed his duck and immediately began dunking it under water, watching it bob to the surface before doing it again. Nanny Ashtoreth took advantage of his distraction to miracle away the worst of the dirt and the leaves in his hair. He squirmed when she tried to use the shampoo, but she persevered, working the bubbles into a lather.

“Nanny _Ash_ , it tickles! You’re messing up my hair!”

“Play with your duck, lamb. I’m almost done.” She sank the duck, for good measure, pushing it under the water with a wink and a minor demonic miracle and then releasing it to launch itself high into the air. It took some water with it, but that hardly seemed to matter; Warlock’s flailing had displaced half of the bath’s contents onto the walls and floor.

“Nanny, Nanny, it flew!”

“Did it? See if you can do it again.”

By the time Warlock was clean - the bathwater miraculously refreshed and renewed twice as it turned brown with mud - Nanny Ashtoreth wanted nothing more than to drag herself off to her room and get some sleep. She had promised Warlock some playtime, however, and playtime he would get.

“Right. Ten minutes’ playtime. Which toys do you want?”

“The snake! The snake!” It was just a little plastic toy made of interlinked segments, but it was one of Warlock’s bathtime favourites because the way the water made it move fascinated him. Nanny Ashtoreth handed it over to him and watched with satisfaction as the boy immediately made it attack the duck. “And the submarine!” That was a wind-up toy that powered its way around the bath under its own power. At least, it did when Nanny Ashtoreth wasn’t supervising Warlock’s bath; when she was there it worked on her power alone, and gained substantial maneuverability on the vertical plane because she felt it _ought_ to be able to dive and turn.

Ten minutes passed quickly, and Nanny Ashtoreth found herself getting caught up in Warlock’s games; at first, she amused herself by piloting the submarine around to bump into his knees, or making it surface directly beneath the duck, sending it sideways. Then Warlock started making tidal waves, determined to make one big enough to wet the ceiling, and she forgot about being a nanny for a moment. She forgot about being responsible for any mess Warlock made and focused on her true duty as a creature of Hell - to make him happy. And so the water splashed higher, and higher, Warlock scooting backwards and forwards in the water and whooping in delight as his rubber duck surfed the crest of the wave all the way to the ceiling and dropped with a _thunk_ on the floor.

“Come on, lamb,” Nanny Ashtoreth told him, when the water calmed again. “Time to get out.”

“Ohhhh, Nanny! I was having fun!”

“Your mother will be home any moment, and she’ll want to see you. Let’s get you all wrapped up and dried off.” She’d forgotten to bring Warlock’s towel, or any clean clothes, into the bathroom, so another discreet miracle fixed that problem. Warlock suffered through being dried off with minimal fuss, though he did keep putting bubbles in her hair as if he thought she wouldn’t notice. Soon enough he was clean, dry and presentable - and not a moment before time.

Harriet Dowling came up the stairs as they emerged from the bathroom, and Nanny Ashtoreth crouched to whisper in Warlock’s ear.

“Run to your mother, now, lamb. And careful does it-” There was no possibility of Warlock getting hurt, of course, especially with his nanny so close at hand, but it didn’t hurt to urge caution around stairs - and then Harriet Dowling had her arms full of clean, warm, dry boy. She smiled and kissed his face all over, and then she looked up and saw Nanny Ashtoreth, standing in the bathroom doorway and smiling faintly at the touching sight.

“Goodness, Nanny Ashtoreth, you’re _soaked!_ Oh, and look at the state of the bathroom…!” Nanny Ashtoreth winced; it was too late to fix it with a miracle. “Never mind. I’ll take Warlock until dinner; could you send someone up to take care of the bathroom, please? Oh, and check there’s nothing leaking through into the kitchen…”

“Right away.” And she clacked off down the stairs.

“Rough day, dear?”

“This is _your fault,”_ she told him irritably, and Brother Francis' only response was to lean against the counter and eat his pastry.

“Oh dear. Do tell me all about it.”

And the warmth that spread through Nanny Ashtoreth as she began to speak was only a side-effect of the drying miracle she was using on her clothes, expanding outwards to dry out the floor beneath her, the joists above the ceiling, and the bathroom itself. Harriet would assume the cleaner had taken care of it. Nanny Ashtoreth's rapidly improving mood was certainly nothing to do with the angel who'd caused all this chaos in the first place.

“Get him that filthy again,” she concluded, feeling slightly less irritable now that she wasn’t dripping wet and being judged by her employer, “and they will never find your corporation.”

“Noted,” Brother Francis chuckled, “but it doesn’t do him any harm to have an extra bath. Cleanliness is, after all, next to godliness-”

Nanny Ashtoreth didn’t bother to dignify that with a response; she just turned away from that smug, insufferable grin and went back to her room for a very well-earned rest.

That was the last time she would mistake _Brother Francis spending time with Warlock_ for an afternoon off.


End file.
